


Dancing on broken glass

by Fogfire



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 12:57:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16388156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fogfire/pseuds/Fogfire
Summary: Chekov has trouble in his marriage. Based on the song "Never let you go" from Dima Bilan





	Dancing on broken glass

**Part I - Pain**

When has shore leave become such a drag?

When has he started to dread coming home?

He’s 30 now, has served under the same Captain for more than 10 years without ever losing his amazement for the stars, his Captain, the teamwork. It’s not the job, he knows that he’s still the best at what he does, has made it to Lieutenant Commander two years ago and will probably become Captain of his own Ship if he ever dares to ask.

It’s not the crew life, not his age.

It’s you.

 

„Pascha,“ you greet him without any excitement.

He hugs you like he always does but it doesn’t feel as close as it used to.

You even smell different, he realizes.

„Did you change your shampoo?“ He asks surprised and you pull away quickly.

„Maybe? Does it matter to you?“ You all but snap.

The ride home is silent for the most time.

„How’s work?“ He asks.

„Good. As usual.“

„Ah… And how have you been?“

„As usual,“ you snap and he falls silent, stares out of the window for the rest of the ride.

He can hear you take a deep breath, can see your hands clench around the steering wheel. It looks as if you hate him being here.

 

„Are you tired?“ You ask, voice significantly softer when you step into the safety of your apartment, „Or hungry?“

„Both actually,“ he replies politely and waits by the door as if he’s just a guest who needs to be shown around and not your husband.

You’re tired again, tired of this facade, but you’ve made your resolve: no fighting at home.

„I’ll make you something to eat. You can take a shower or a nap in the meantime.“

„Thank you.“

He brushes past you on his way to the bedroom and it hurts.

You can still remember the times when you couldn’t make it there for the first hours of him coming home when he had kissed you as soon as the door closed, promising to never let you go again.

 

You take your time with cooking, the simple task calming you down and the radio plays your favorite music, giving you the illusion that it’s just a day like any other.

„ _Heavy clouds, no rain, and every move causes pain,“_  you freeze in the process of cutting a tomato and stare at the radio.

It’s Paschas favorite song. You haven’t heard it in a while, it’s an old Russian classic. To hear it now, with him in the other room, so close and yet so far away…

„ _Ready kiss, but no love, I feel I’m torn in half-_ “ You drop the knife and stumble over to the radio, changing the station and cutting of the singer’s voice.

It’s one thing to hear the song you listened to on your first date, but knowing what the song is about…

„Isn’t that ironic?“ You ask and turn your head slightly, watching Pascha instead of the stars in front of the window, „Your favorite song is about a love turned cold…“

„Maybe it’s a warning,“ he says and smiles at you, eyes twinkling with humor, „We should always pour the champagne…“ He jokes, referring to the lyrics.

„You brought champagne?“ You joke back and take his hand, dare to be brave for once. He blushes adorably.

The smell of something burnt pulls you out of your memories and you curse and take the pan off the stove. Great. Now you have to start again.

 

He’s asleep when you step into the bedroom and you can’t help to notice that even the way he sleeps has changed in the time he’s been away from you.

The Pascha you know had always been curled up in a ball and when you’ve started to sleep in the same bed with him, he had uncurled himself just enough for you to slip in between his arms.

Now he lays sprawled out on the bed, head pushed into your pillow, naked feet sticking out beneath the blanket.

You step around him and open one the drawers, looking down at the official looking papers.

You have filled them out, have stacked them together and now they wait for nothing more but his signature.

„Petition for Divorce,“ you touch the bold letters with your fingertips before pulling away and closing the drawer again.

He will be home for at least one week, you don’t have to tell him on his first evening back.

 

Pavel is not asleep.

He’s a horrible actor and he knows it, he’s not even in his usual sleeping position, but you still believe it.

His heart aches at the thought that you simply want to believe it. That him being asleep is less of an ordeal for you than him being awake.

And he’s a fool, hiding from you and the moment of truth.

He hears you pull open the drawer. Breathing gets harder. How can you not notice that he isn’t asleep?

Or have you noticed and this is your way of dealing with it? Are you just going to pick up the divorce papers that you haven’t hidden very well and push them into his arms?

Irreconcilable differences, you’ve even filled out the reason for the divorce.

You close the drawer and walk around the bed. He’s afraid of breathing, moving, living, but you just pat him on the back.

„Pascha, get up. The food is ready.“

There’s no love left in your voice. He has heard you talk friendlier to coworkers you have never met before.

You don’t mention the divorce papers and he won’t do it either.

He can’t, he’s not brave enough. Or maybe that’s just the child in him. The little boy that thinks he’s invisible when he puts his hands in front of his eyes.

The big boy that hopes he will not get divorced if he just doesn’t mention it.

 

Late afternoon and evening go by in tense silence.

They hardly talk and when they do its uncomfortable silence.

It’s a game, Pavel realizes sadly. They don’t want to fight anymore, but they both don’t know what else to do. Where has the love gone?

 _Baby, now it’s happened with us_  
We are dancing on broken glass  
Can’t stand no more

His favorite song comes to his mind when he’s brushing his teeth. He glares at his own face in the mirror, looks for the change that must have etched itself into his features. He can’t see it.

But he knows he’s changed. They both have changed.

He wants to settle down but he can’t stay still. Restlessness is engraved into his bones.

_Captain Chekov, he thinks sometimes, Admiral Chekov, I could make it so far._

_You have potential_ , he hears Commodore Paris say, the woman looking at him with eyes that see far too much,  _you could have your own ship if you want too._

 _But I do not want to serve without my family,_ he thinks,  _Captain Kirk, Sulu, Spock, Dr. McCoy, Scotty…_

He does not want to leave you behind but he does not want to drag you away. Maybe he should have made a decision after all. He should have become a Captain and take you with him on his ship. Or accepted the offer of staying with you on earth, work with you on

The first day of shore leave is reserved for family.

Everyone is with their beloved ones and Pavel just wants to get away from his.

 

He’s sitting in an uncomfortable chair in the living room, trying to read a book he picked from the shelves. The name sounds unfamiliar and he just turns the pages whenever he feels like he has stared at the letters long enough. Mostly he’s just watching you.

The TV is on but you’re working on something on your PADD, the mindless chatter from the TV filling the silence.

It’s hard to remember how all this happened. It seems as if it was yesterday that you’ve spent the day on the couch, cuddling, laughing, tickling, kissing…

And it also seems as if it was yesterday that you’ve yelled at him, thrown a plate at him, told him to that you did not want a dog to keep you company, that you wanted him…

Funny how you didn’t even want to look at him now.

There’s a shift in the air, something he can’t put in words until he realizes that the chatter is gone from the TV and it plays music instead.

His heart stops when he recognizes the song and for the first time in forever you look up at catch his eyes.

 

 _Never, never let you go_  
You are the one I’m searching for  
Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone  
Love’s carving it in the stone

 

Another game. Who can hold out longer?

Pavel forgets how to breathe right in the middle of the song, feels like he’s falling into your eyes. But he’s falling upwards, up into the endless sky and there’s nothing that holds him back.

But then you look away and the spell is broken and he’s back on the uncomfortable chair, the song is over, there’s chatter on the TV and you won’t look at him again.

 

„I’m going to bed,“ he mumbles and gets up. You don’t react, stare at your PADD instead. You haven’t been working in the last hour, your focus merely enough to sort through your files.

His eyes are still as kind as they used to be and you know if you’d let him, he could warm you up just by looking at you.

But you’re cold and he’s too.

He will just leave again. Why warm up if you will freeze all over again as soon as he’s gone?

 

You wait an hour before you go to bed, giving him enough time to fall asleep.

He’s curled up on his side, but you don’t slip into his embrace. There’s no place for you anymore.

But when you pull the blanket over you, his back is pressed against yours.

You can feel his heartbeat, a little uneven, a little shaky.

He must feel different, you muse sadly, now that he’s back on earth, where everything is grounded but him.

 

**Part II – Flight**

The house is empty when he wakes up.

You’ve written a note. „Am at work. Food in the fridge, call if there’s something important.“

He holds the sticky notes on his finger tip and stares down at it.

Five years ago he had created a trail out of sticky notes, from the bedroom to the kitchen, where he had prepared breakfast, spelling „Happy 1st Anniversary“ with blueberries on your pancakes. He had spent hours to write those notes, a reason why he loves you on every single one of it. They had been in his locker on the Enterprise until he came home, and he had to hide them in his socks to make sure you wouldn’t find them when you helped him unpack.

The same sticky notes.

But this time it hurts to see the paper.

 

He tries to keep his mind off you, off everything that hurts, but it’s hard in this apartment, where everything is you and some of the things are still him.

Your wedding pictures in the hallways.

Cards from his parents, letters from yours.

They’ve stopped asking for grandchildren when his brother got twins. He remembers how glad he had been, that he wouldn’t need to decide between children and his career, between raising them on the Enterprise or finding a bigger apartment on this space station.

Maybe he should have made a decision. Yes or no.

But he’s a runner, it seems. At least when it comes to such things.

Your voice hits him like a sledgehammer, crystal clear and angry.

„You could have asked me! I’m your wife! Do you even care what I want?“

He turns around but you’re nowhere to be seen.

It’s a memory, he realizes. Not even a specific one. You’ve said that so many times that he can’t even count it anymore.

But he knows what you want. Divorce…

-

There’s a picture of you and Pascha in your locker. Not your wedding picture, because they look so fake with all the posing. It’s from the day David McCoy was born. Here, in this station, in the hospital right above your head.

The little boy had been nothing more but calm sweetness, a heavy warmth in your arms.

You remember staring down at him, waiting for him to open his eyes. They were blue then and you know they’re brown now, but you know how the baby had looked up at you and you had felt like your life had been turned upside down.

You had felt fear and happiness at the same time because you wanted this to happen to you, wanted to hold your own child and be afraid of not being good enough for it.

The photograph did no justice to these feelings, it just shows to adults fussing over a baby that isn’t their own, you think bitterly and close your locker.

The labs are quiet, orderly, focused. Nothing better than this to get your mind off what is waiting at home.

„Hey love,“ Spencer calls out to you, waving a coffee cup in your direction, „I got your drink. How did you sleep?“

He leaves a kiss on your cheek, hands you your coffee and lets his hand rests on the small of your back while walking next to you.

“Good,” you lie and smile back at him, trying to fight back the memories, but failing miserably.

“Your eyes get bigger when you lie,” Pasha tells you and pops another candy into his mouth, smiling brightly at you, “Therefore I’m pretty sure you’re hiding something from me.”

“It’s a surprise,” you protest, “Don’t ask me anything about it!”

He pouts adorably, his eyes twinkling like they always do when he has something in mind.

“But you said you love me. You’re supposed to tell me everything!”

You laugh and stretch out your hand, already decided to pick the grape candy you love, but Pasha snatches it away from you.

“Uhuh, no sweets for you. You’ve got to tell me the truth first.” To taunt you even more, he picks the grape candy and pops it into his mouth. But you know him and he should know you.

You move fast, falling forward and he drops the bowl with the candy in favor of catching you but when he grabs your shoulders to stabilize you, you move your head and press your lips to his, stealing the candy from him.

“The truth?” You ask when you move back again, “The truth is that I’m not going to tell you. It’s a surprise”

You blink and catch Spencer looking at you like he’s waiting for something.

“Sorry,” you apologize, “I just got lost in my thoughts. What did you say?”

Spencer doesn’t notice your eyes growing bigger, nor the tension in your voice. He’s not Pasha and that’s one of the reasons why you liked him to begin with.

-

There’s a Russian bakery on the main street. It’s one of the reasons you chose to stay at this space station instead of moving back to earth.

Pavel has ditched breakfast in order to get out of the house. He couldn’t stay inside, couldn’t look at another picture of you and him together or all the little stuff he can’t remember having.

When did you buy throw pillows? You used to hate them.

There are pots of herbs in the kitchen that make him remember the lemon tree he had tried to cultivate so many times. You had brought home lemons after lemons even when it was clear that he would never make that lemon tree happen.

Why didn’t he just buy one? Had he always been that stubborn?

He stops and opens the door of the bakery, forcing himself to think of something, anything else.

The air smells sweet, rich with aroma. He looks over the baked goods, focusing harder than necessary on his memories of what everything tastes like until his stomach is growling from hunger. He orders Chak-Chak and a Vatrushka with jam hopes that the sugar will lift his mood and that the strong black coffee will wake him up.

He takes the newspaper they’ve put out for the guests, happy to be able to read in his native language again. He reads careful, looks at every word, tries to keep his thoughts in neatly drawn paths.

The combination of Vatrushka and coffee leaves him with a feeling of warmth and homesickness. He misses his mothers cooking, the fields outside the house, runs in the woods and the open blue sky right above him. He takes a bite of the Chak-Chak and feels like a little boy again, fingers sticky, teeth glued together from the sugary goodness.

If only traveling back in time was as easy as remembering.

He wants to cry, barely holds himself together. He focuses on his senses, tastes the sugar, smells coffee and jam and honey, sees the dark wood of the table and the golden brown of Chak-Chak, hears…

He knows this song, he thinks and tries to catch the lyrics. It’s an old Russian song, from when they still hosted Song Contests. Julia Samoylova, he remembers, a flame is burning. His aunt’s favorite song.

Pavel listens closely when the song changes, recognizing the melody easily, fighting back the feeling of dread.

 _Flesh of my flesh,_  
bone of my bone  
Love’s carving it in the stone

He’s about to get up and leave, unable to stay and listen, when the doorbell chimes and a familiar voice drones out everything else.

He’s about to get up and leave, unable to stay and listen when the doorbell chimes and a familiar voice drones out everything else.

“Come on, Honey, let’s pick something.”

Pavel slides back into his seat and keeps his eyes fixated on the front of the shop. Lucy McCoy is all easy smiles and friendly glances in every direction, a clear sign of how happy she is to be on shore leave.

The door’s still open and the four-year-old David follows her in, carefully looking at every little thing that the bakery offers.

Pavel leans against the wall. He doesn’t want them to see him, doesn’t want to make small talk with friends that know him too well. He doesn’t know anyone who can fool Lucy and he’s not going to be the first to try.

“He’s going to lose all his teeth,” a deeper voice grumbles, the southern drawl foreign in this Russian themed environment, but so familiar to Pavel’s ears.

Doctor McCoy steps in behind his wife and son, grumbling under his breath about the amount of sugar.

Pavel has to force himself to look away when the Doctor leans forward to order two cups of coffee and one glass of milk for the three of them and kisses his wife on the cheek when she turns to look at him.

He looks at their backs instead, at the way Lucy is leaning into her husband or the fact that he’s pushed his thumb through her belt loop while David holds his other four fingers.

“Daddy,” the boy says eagerly, “Can we get presents for Uncle Jim?”

“Why would we?”

David looks up at him, clearly searching for something to say, while Luy pushes her husband’s shoulder and chides him softly.

“Because we’re nice people, Leonard.”

The doctor sighs like he always does as if he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, but he nods and smiles down at his son, his eyes crinkling at the sides.

“Pick something. But no nuts. The kids allergic to it.”

“I know that Dad,” David tells him earnestly and presses his hand against the glass, “I want them to try that round bread. It looks good.”

“It is a Vatrushka,” the baker says and smiles down at the boy, “It is delicious.”

The family does not stay long. They take their coffee in cups and their sweets in a little box and leave.

Pavel looks after them, at the smiles they share and the soft little kisses that are exchanged just because they can and they want to. And then there’s David, calm and caring and so much a kid that it hurts, his face and hands sticky from the sweets he’s got to try, his eyes big and full of wonder when he looks up at his dad.

I want that, Pavel thinks, I want all of that too.

And he looks out the window, looks at the reflection of light on the glass and hears the door chime again.

He sees you come in, eyes fixated on the baked goods, already thinking about what you will order today and he sees himself coming in after you, laughing out loud, a little boy on his arm that has his hair and your eyes. There’s love in his smile and happiness in yours.

And he’s pulled out of this dream by the chiming of the doorbell, pulled back into a reality where all this will never happen.

 

**Part III - Fight**

Pavel is already halfway back to your apartment when the lyrics of his favorite song come rushing back to him.

The words force their way inside his head. He tries humming something else, weird Christmas themed songs he’s heard Captain Kirk sing under his breath, even tries to remember the weird screeching noises the Sinars call music, but it’s to no avail, the song is stuck in his head.

So he lets it happen, drops down to the nearest bench and looks straight ahead into the park.

_Never, never let you go  
You are the one i’m searching for_

  
How cruel is this world, this universe, that even now, more than 300 years after this song has come popular, people all over the universe happen to feel the same?

 

 _Return the days we had before_  
Soul of my soul, blood of my blood  
Love’s carving it in my heart

 

Never, never let you go, he thinks and wipes away a single tear that’s escaped.

And then he stops, doesn’t breathe for a moment, afraid that even that might scare away the thought that has found a way inside the darkness of his mind, a tiny little flicker of light.

He nurses this thought calls it softly, allows it to grow until it’s big enough to shed a light on the mess his life has turned into.

Never let you go, a man has sung, hundreds of years before, and here he is, failing to listen to the warning words yet again.

But not this time, he tells himself, no, not this time. This time he will listen to the warning, this time he will try and learn from it-

„Uncle Pasha!“ A high voice yells, disrupts his eagerness, his will to change, himself, the world, the universe.

He jumps, barely quick enough to see the little girl running towards him.

He catches her just in time when she leaps up at him and he twirls her around in the air.

She’s laughing, all blue eyes and blonde locks, squealing in joy.

„Sorry Chekov,“ the Captain apologizes and he puts the youngest Kirk down.

D'jan'a looks up at him and pouts.

„Up!“ She demands and he picks her up and settles her at her hip and she starts to dig around in the pockets of his jacket.

„D'jan'a,“ Kirk scolds warmly, „What did I tell you about pickpocketing?“

She doesn’t listen to her father but pulls a candy out of his pocket.

„Can I?“ She asks Chekov and smiles up at him, eyes big and bright and so so innocent.

„No,“ her father says, „It’s Chekov’s candy. And you know that Mum doesn’t want you to eat candy before lunch.“

„But I want!“ She demands, her tiny hands clutching around the candy. She’s just seconds away from one of her famous temper tantrums. Chekov knows how to spot the signs now.

He pulls her a bit closer and mumbles something into her ear. „If you behave I will tell you a secret.“

She calms down instantly and turns around to look at him.  „What secret?“

„Well, I did see David buy a present for you today.“

D'jan'as eyes grow big.

„What? What?“

„Well it’s in a white paper box and you can eat it.“

„Cake?“ She asks excitedly and when Chekov nods, she squeals and demands to be let down. When he sets her on the floor, she scrambles over to her dad and pulls on his trousers.

„Daddy?“ She asks and pushes out her lip as if to persuade him.

„You’ll have to ask Mum,“ he tells her and points towards a group of people on the other side of the park’s playground.

D'jan'a runs off without another word and her father looks after her with a smile that’s half amused and half tired.

„Kids,“ he says, as if it wasn’t his first and if the girl wasn’t just a bit over two years old.

And Chekov looks after the girl as well, thinking about the children you wanted to have and the stories his brother tells about how much work parenthood is and he knows that he wants it all. With you.

„Keptin?“ He asks and Kirk turns, easy smile and relaxed posture, a man on shore-leave, „Can I talk  to you for a second?“

They sit on the park-bench for a while. Probably just an hour, but it feels like way more and when they get up to go separate ways, Kirk pulls him into something like a hug.

„I don’t want you to leave,“ he says, „Not just because you’re an amazing Navigator, but because you’re one of my closest friends.“

„We will stay friends,“ Chekov promises and bites down the rising fear and Kirk, no, Jim, smiles at him and nods.

„For sure. I mean, you’re practically my brother, right? My daughter already calls you her uncle.“

Chekov sniffles and Jim nods earnestly and they shake hands and promise to keep in touch over the next days. It’s all there’s left to say.

-

You’re in the middle of writing your report about the newest data from your experiments when Spencer stops next to your desk, putting a cup of coffee and a cinnamon bun in front of you.

„Something sweet for someone sweet,“ he smiles at you and you smile back and it’s fake for the first time since he’s transferred into your department.

Spencer’s cute. He’s polite and charming, but he’s also so American that it’s almost allowed to use it as a verb to describe him.

You bite your own tongue for that thought. No, he’s not, you think, just like you can’t be described as Russian. It’s only your nerves being on edge and your dislike of everything that contains cinnamon.

You take a bite of the sweet bun and imagine it being a Vatrushka, warm and fresh out of the oven, with jam and a glass of milk. Your mouth waters and you sigh in bliss just at the thought of your favorite sweet and you smile involuntarily.

„That good, huh?“ Spencer asks with a smile in his voice but before you can answer he straightens and looks over the desks towards the main door.

„Huh? A visitor? That’s rare.“

You raise your head as well, looking toward the door and when you spot him, your blood runs cold.

„Are you okay? Do you know the guy?“

„Yeah,“ you manage to croak out, not moving, unable to take your eyes from Pasha. He’s standing in the doorway, his hair a curly mess and he carries that cute look on his face that made you fall for him in the first place. This mixture of I’m-uncomfortable-with-everyone-looking-at-me and Don’t-mind-me-guys-I-don’t-want-to-disturb. He’s out of place and right in it at the same time and he smiles brightly when your boss steps up to him, shakes his hand and leads him away.

What does that mean, you wonder, afraid and confused at the same time? What is happening?

„So you know him?“ Spencer asks curious and you’re reminded again that he likes to gossip.

„Yes,“ you repeat, „He’s my husband.“

Spencer freezes and looks at you with something written in his eyes that you can’t even hope to put into words.

„We’re divorcing,“ you mumble weakly but he just steps away from your desk and smiles, politely and unattached to anything that could be a feeling.

„Well, I will leave you to your work.“

As if you could concentrate on your reports now.

-

He’s home.

You’ve stayed at your desk until he’s left your work place, you’ve tried to work your reports but ended up doodling into your notebook for solid three hours.

You’re disgusted by your work ethic, your lack of focus but there’s no helping that if you don’t go home first and talk to him.

Your inner alarms blare when you step through the door.

It smells like food and not just like any food, but your favorite dish. There are only two people in the universe who know what your favorite dish is and are able to make it and one of them is your grandmother.

You put your bag down and step into the kitchen.

He’s in the middle of setting the table and you stop to stare.

There are your favorite flowers on the table and a white paper box is placed next to eat. You know that kind of box, know the bakery it must come from.

„What are you doing?“ You ask your voice a bit louder than necessary and a bit shriller than you wanted it to sound.

He looks up at you, a soft smile on his face.

„I made you dinner.“

„I see that. No, I mean, I smelled it. But the flowers? The sweets? What are you trying to do?“

„I want to talk,“ he offers and sets two plates in front down on the table, „And I think that a relaxed atmosphere would help with that.“

„Maybe I don’t want to talk,“ you snap. You know you’re reacting unreasonable, but you can’t stop yourself.

Pasha looks at you, a serious look on his face. For the first time since you’ve met him, he looks exactly as old as he is, like a grown man who knows what he’s doing.

„I’ve seen the divorce papers.“ He says.

You have to hold onto the chair to keep from falling and he’s nice enough to come for your help.

„I’m sorry,“ you hear yourself mumble and he sits down in front of you, looking concerned.

He’s not supposed to be concerned.

„For what? Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think you didn’t know how to save this relationship on your own and looked for a way out while you still could.“

„Yes,“ you whisper hoarsely, „Are you mad?“

„Sad,“ he corrects you, „Immensely. And yes, mad at myself, because when I sobered up enough from my despair I realized that we never really listened to each other when we fought and we never really listened to our song.“

„Never let you go?“ You ask numbly and look down at your food when you feel like you can’t look at his face anymore.

Where has your anger gone? You should scream at him, but there’s no fight left in you.

„I hate what we’ve become,“ you say and he smiles so sadly it breaks your heart even more.

„Me too,“ he mumbles and stretches out his hand to take yours.

You slip yours under the table, away from his reach and look away from the hurt on his face.

„Listen,“ he says, urgency in his voice, „I know I’ve made a lot of mistakes. A lot of them only because I was afraid of making decisions, afraid of making mistakes.“

„That’s ironic,“ you mumble.

„Yeah, I know. I’m trying to fix it if you’ll let me.“

„How? How do you want to fix this? Do you think flowers and sweets will mend my heart?“

„No,“ he interrupts you, „No, I don’t think they will. But I’ve taken the time and thought about everything you screamed at me and everything you didn’t. And you were right in a lot of things. I pushed what you wanted aside and put myself first and let the fear of not being a good father keep me from being one.“

„So you want to have a child now?“ You ask bitterly, „You think a child will keep this marriage alive? I want children, Pasha, but I won’t have one just so you can go off with the Enterprise again and come back every few months for a surprise visit.“

„I’m not going back,“ he says and you stop to gape at him.

„What?“

„I quit,“ he says and there’s enough sadness in his eyes for you to believe his statement.

„If you’ll have me,“ he says and stretches his hand out again, lays it down on the table, palm up, waiting for you to take it, „I will stay. With you. Your contract lasts for another two years. Let me try to fix this, to be the husband I know I can and want to be. If it doesn’t work, we will go separate ways. If it does, we will decide together. My crew is my family, but the two of us, we became a little family of our own when we married. And I won’t sacrifice this just because I’m afraid of being left behind by my friends.“

„I’m sorry,“ you whisper and he nods, tears in his eyes. You can see him fight for his voice again, just like you fight to stay upright, to keep swimming in the floods of feelings.

„It starts with this,“ he says, „You decide. If you take my hand, I will promise, that this time, I will  _never let you go_.“


End file.
